


Chances

by Tyberius



Category: Blade (Movie Series), Blade Trinity
Genre: Blood Drinking, Family Issues, Friendship, Gen, Vampire Turning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:51:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyberius/pseuds/Tyberius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Blade Trinity, Blade finds out that Whistler survived the explosion of their hideout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chances

**Author's Note:**

> This story uses the ending of the movie where Blade wakes up in the morgue.

The FBI agents had lied to Blade when they'd told him Whistler was dead.

Now Blade was standing in front of the hospital where they kept Whistler.  
It was well past midnight in a moonless night.

He'd found out that Whistler was in the intense care unit which was located on the tenth floor.

Ready for action, Blade jumped and climbed the facade and slipped through an open window into a bathroom.  
It was empty. He sneaked towards the door and listened.  
The sounds and smells formed themselves into a mental image of what was around him.  
There were several rooms with sleeping patients around. A TV was on in the room left to the bathroom. The nurses, he thought five, were gathered in a single room, chatting with each other. The corridor was empty and ended to the right in a tightly closing door. On the left were elevators. Behind the door he sensed more patients, surrounded by beeping machines. That had to be the intense care unit.

Blade stepped out into the corridor. He passed the open door to the nurses' break room at vampire speed, too fast for them to notice him.

The entrance to the intense care unit turned out to be a sterile gate. The access wasn't restricted, so Blade entered quickly.

The stench of sickness hung heavily in the air. There were nine rooms on each side of the corridor.  
He found Whistler's room and slipped in. He was already warned by the smell, but the sight shocked him and made him freeze as soon as he'd closed the door behind himself. The joy of finding Whistler alive was heavily dampened.

Whistler laid on the bed, connected to a respirator and various other machines and hooked on masses of tubes. Most of his body was covered by bandages. He reeked of injury and badly healing wounds, infection and dying tissue.

Blade had known he would be severely injured from the explosion and fire, but this was beyond what he'd dared to imagine. His plan wasn't gonna work.

Blade stepped up to the side of his bed.  
He took off his sunglasses and leaned in close. He slipped the glove off his right hand and gently touched the less injured, somewhat recognizable side of Whistler's face. His skin felt clammy.

"Whistler?" he asked softly even though he knew it was useless, hoping for any reaction.  
None came.

Overwhelmed with pain and desperation, Blade turned away. He didn't want it to go this way. He didn't want to accept this.

He picked up the file he noticed on a rack on the wall. Quickly he thumbed through the pages.  
Third degree burns on 85 % of body ... imminent multiple organ failure ... patient is final ...  
Blade growled and tossed the file away.

The pain was pulling him under.  
This was like when Frost's goons had killed Whistler. A fucking nightmare. He couldn't stand that again.

"No ...," he whispered. "I'm not gonna let you die, old man."

A new plan took shape in his mind.  
He postponed any ethical analysis of his idea to later or he wouldn't be able to pull this through. And he had to since he couldn't stand losing Whistler.

Looking at Whistler, he made his decision.  
He would deal with the consequences later.

He stepped to the side of the bed again and gently turned Whistler's head to the side, exposing the side of his neck without a vein catheter.

Quickly he leaned down and sank his fangs into Whistler's jugular before he could back out of this.

Blade sucked his friend's and father's blood. Sinfully delicious, even though it tasted of imminent death and heavy medication.

After a few gulps, Blade restrained himself and stopped.  
Pulling away and licking over the six bleeding punctures, he noticed the sound at the door a second too late.

A cop stormed in.  
Blade decided against the gun, too much noise. Before the man could even yell, Blade threw a stake at him. It impaled him through the right eye into the skull.  
The cop dropped instantly dead.

That was one mistake he wouldn't make again, fucking around when he had the chance to kill. That was the kind of shit that had gotten Whistler into this hospital in the first place.

Blade dragged the body into the room and closed the door silently. He pulled the stake out and pocketed it as not to leave evidence behind.

This wasn't going as he would've liked. They needed time for the virus to do its work.

More cops would come soon. They had to have spotted him on video surveillance.

As he hurried to disconnect the various tubes, needles and catheters from Whistler, he heard hasty steps in the corridor.  
Damn fucking soon.

"Please don't die ...," he whispered.

Two cops burst into the room. Blade shot them before they could fire at him. He swirled around and shot into the window. The glass shattered.

He gathered Whistler up in his arms and jumped from the window.  
More cops storm into the room, yelling in shock.

Blade landed in a crouch on the asphalt ten stores below, Whistler still safely in his arms.  
He ran.

The cops recovered way too quickly from witnessing this little stunt. They shouted and then shot at him as he sprinted across the parking area, faster than a human would be able to.

Most bullets missed. A few hit his back and were held off by his Kevlar.  
Suddenly one hit his leg. He stumbled and slowed down for a moment. Enough time for two bullets to tear into his shoulder and upper arm.

He kept going. Sped up and vanished from the hospital ground.  
He sprinted to the car two streets away and got the fuck away.  
With Whistler laid on the backseat he sped through the nightly city, carefully watching out for any followers.

His own wounds were nothing to worry about. The bullets had gone right through and he'd already healed within the matter of minutes.  
He didn't like to think about the reason for this. Memories of an autopsy room and an FBI agent's blood flashed through his mind before he could push them away.

Shaking off the unwanted images, he looked back at Whistler who was deeply unconscious and barely breathing. There was nothing Blade could do for him yet. Blood would only help when he was already well into the transformation process.

Before Blade could leave the city, he had to get blood for later. A massacre at the local blood bank would be plain stupid right now. A more low profile approach was needed.

And it presented itself when he drove through a desolate hood where trash was piling on the streets and sidewalks.

A man stood by an otherwise empty street corner.  
A familiar. Waiting for customers to buy his drugs.  
Slowing down, Blade carefully checked the area. No safehouse. No suckheads.

He parked right in front of the man who immediately came up to his car. Blade rolled down his window.  
As recognition set in, the familiar stopped dead in his tracks.  
"D...Daywalker? But you died ..." His eyes widened in horror.

"I came back."  
With vampire speed Blade was out of the car and at the familiar before the man could put up a fight.  
A precise punch knocked the piece of shit out.  
Blade searched him, pocketed the various drugs and his gun, dropped him into the trunk and restrained him with duct tape.

Now Blade made it quickly out of the city.  
It became deeply dark with no more buildings and street lights around. Finally alone on the nightly road, he switched off the car's lights.  
After half an hour tall trees started to line the road. He'd reached the woods where he'd picked the most unexpected location for a temporary hideout. A cabin. No one would think to look for them there.

Soon he turned into an unpaved forest road. Another thirty minutes and several turns into smaller forest roads later he reached the cabin.

He got out of the car.  
No one there.  
No had been there during his absence. Everything was untouched.  
Nothing but the scents of the woods.

He carried Whistler inside and laid him on the bed he'd prepared for him. Whistler looked so old and frail, nothing like the strong man he'd always been. It hurt so much to see him like this.

"Please hang on," Blade said, gently touching his face and the bite on his neck.

After a long glance at him Blade closed the shutters and went outside. He draped a camo net over the car and got the unconscious familiar inside the house.

Then he returned to Whistler. He took off his coat and gloves. The kevlar damaged from the cops' bullets he kept on.

Motionless he sat in the dark and watched the only person in the world he truly cared about.

Soon he could smell the infection spreading. The skin around the six punctures in the jugular was red and swollen, the blood vessels in the area beginning to show.  
Good. This meant he wouldn't die.

Blade remembered the time when Whistler had spared his life and taken him in and taught him everything about the true workings of the world.  
Given him a purpose. Taught him how to control himself. How to use his vampiric powers to rid the world of the monsters that had fucked up his life from the very beginning.

The transformation was progressing. Still unconscious, Whistler stirred and whimpered occasionally. As the hours went by, he smelled less and less human.

Memories of dark times before Whistler had found a working serum for Blade came up.  
Whistler had picked out familiars for him to drink their blood. After draining them, Blade had killed them so they wouldn't turn. It wasn't wrong, they would've killed the scum anyway. Nevertheless Blade had hated it that he needed blood to survive. Still hated it nowadays.

Before dawn quick flicks of childhood days when he'd been nearly normal, nearly human, crossed Blade's mind.  
But it had all turned into a nightmare when he'd attacked everyone around him, drank their blood, killed them.

In the morning Blade could feel the sun rise outside, bringing light while the interior of the cabin stayed dark.  
The daylight brought guilt. This was wrong in so many ways, but he refused to ponder on it for the time being.

A moan snapped Blade out of this thoughts.  
Whistler was waking up, his eyelids fluttered.  
Blade reached out to touch his hand.

Suddenly Whistler jerked upright on the bed with a cry.  
His gaze roamed around panicked, then vampiric eyes focused on Blade. The familiar blue had an orange tint to it.

Blade sat on the edge of the bed and steadied him as he swayed with weakness, keeping him in a sitting position. Strangely, Whistler felt nearly humanly warm to the touch  
. Yet Blade could smell his raging need for blood.

He looked at Blade confused and disoriented, but there was recognition and awareness in his gaze. He was himself, not some monster.

"Blade?" he weakly croaked.

"Yes, I'm here."  
Blade pulled him close, cradling him into an embrace. Baring the side of his neck, he brought Whistler's mouth close to his jugular.  
Whistler struggled.  
"Don't fight it. Feed. You won't hurt me with this," Blade told him. "Trust me."

The struggle slowly ceased. After a moment of hesitation the instinct to feed took over.  
Fangs tore through Blade's skin and a weak suction began, quickly increasing and growing stronger.

Blade groaned quietly. This was very different from when Nyssa had drunk his blood. More intense and it made him feel light-headed quickly. Not entirely unpleasant, actually somewhat arousing in a most pervert way.

Soon Whistler gripped him firmly, one arm around his upper body, the other hand holding his head.

Quickly Blade felt himself weakening with the blood loss while Whistler obviously got better and the scent of injury diminished.

When Blade was about to stop him, Whistler pulled away and sank down on the mattress.

Whistler looked around again. His blue-orangish eyes were familiar and strange at the same time. His lips were bloody.

Blade touched the small wounds in his own jugular where the bleeding was already stopping.

"What the fuck's going on here?" Whistler's voice was weak.

"You're home," Blade said. "You're gonna be okay. What's the last thing you remember?"

Whistler eyed him suspiciously. He answered nevertheless.  
"The explosion. Dying. I briefly woke up afterwards, though. Guess a hospital. I hurt so much I wanted to be dead."

He licked his lips, wincing in disgust as his tongue felt the fangs in his mouth.  
"Who the fuck did this to me?"  
He stared at the bite on Blade's neck.

"Me."

Shock showed on Whistler's face. It took him a long moment to finally murmur, "What the fuck?"

"I found you in a hospital, you were dying from fatal burns. I couldn't let that happen when there's a way to help you. When you're fully turned, you take the retroviral detox," Blade said.

Whistler seemed still shocked, and now even kinda frightened.  
"Fuck ... You gotta be shittin' me ..." he growled.  
He moved around a little, maybe to sit up, but was too weak to accomplish much.

"I've bitten you so you won't die." Blade gently pushed him back down.

"Fuck ..." Whistler slurred. He closed his eyes.

"Sleep. You need to rest. And more blood. Then I'll give you the cure." Blade felt his pulse at his jugular. Too fast. Too warm skin, humanly warm, not at all like a vampire. This wasn't normal. Blade decided to keep silent about it for now.

Whistler didn't say anything, just looked at him, then closed his eyes.  
When he'd fallen asleep, Blade got up to take a dose of serum. He needed it to regenerate from the blood loss.  
As he entered the cabin's other room, the tied up familiar stared at him.

"No ... please don't hurt me ... let me go ...," the asshole whimpered.

Blade picked him by his belt.  
"You won't survive this day, maybe you'll die by my hand. There's nothing you can do to change this. So shut up and take it like a man."

As the man started to panic and scream, Blade knocked him out again and dropped him back to the floor.  
Damn coward. As they all were without their owners around.

After injecting himself, Blade went back to Whistler.

Looking at him, Blade knew without a doubt he'd done the right thing, no matter how sick the whole idea was.

He felt nearly happy. Most likely, all would go well now, complications were unlikely when Whistler had made it so far.

Blade had missed him so much.  
Friend, partner, father.

The knowledge that things would've gone different if he hadn't been such a fucking idiot hurt so much. It had been his fault that Whistler had nearly died.

He should've listened to Whistler. Been more careful. Noticed it was a familiar, not a vampire he'd shot. Noticed there was some suckhead around, taping the whole scenario.  
They should have fled when they had the chance. Pack up and get the fuck away. He should've fought the SWAT team better, killed them. Gotten the machine gun and shot them instead of fucking around with them one by one like an idiot. He could've taken them all out quickly.

But he hadn't.  
He'd been so fucking stupid.

When he'd seen their place blow up with Whistler still inside, the shock and horror had made him give up. He'd just allowed them to arrest him, too much in pain to resist or flee.  
The pain and horror had continued in the following days when he'd thought Whistler dead.

Now he had a second chance.  
He wouldn't fuck everything up again.

Watching Whistler, he still almost couldn't believe it. The reality of having him back seemed so fragile and dreamlike as if it might pop like a bubble anytime.

Hours later by sunset Whistler stirred again.  
Fully vampire by now? Blade thought so, even though Whistler smelled ... off ... Not like any vampire he'd ever encountered. Actually kinda like Blade himself.

This worried Blade, but he didn't show it. He smiled at Whistler as he opened his eyes and looked at him.  
"How do you feel?"

"Like shit," Whistler murmured. His fangs briefly showed as he opened his mouth to speak.

"You need more blood ..."

"No, I'll drain you ... No control ..." Whistler protested.

"Wasn't talking about myself. You need human blood."  
Blade got up and walked into the other room. The familiar was awake and tugging at the duct tape restraints. He panicked and screamed as he saw Blade.

Blade roughly dragged him to Whistler's bed, ignoring the struggling and screams.

Whistler stared at the man, then mustered Blade like he'd lost his mind.  
"Where did you get that?" he asked.

"He's a familiar. Kobejitsu. Looks like they're trying to take Talos' place in this city."  
At this answer the hard look in Whistler's eyes softened.

"What? No, please let me go! I'll do everything you want!" the familiar screamed.

"Then be an obedient meal."  
Blade slapped him hard across the face, then dropped him on the bed beside Whistler. Who hesitated and moved away even though everything in him screamed for blood.  
The familiar seemed to think that was his chance, but before he could do so much as struggle, Whistler growled like an animal and attacked him vampire-fast.

Holding the familiar tight against himself, Whistler eagerly sucked his blood. The screams quickly died down to a weak whimpering.

Blade refused to ponder on all the emotions the sight brought up.

Whistler was quickly getting stronger. He rolled them over, getting the familiar beneath him, attacking more aggressively.

When he had his fill, Whistler straightened up, groaning in fulfillment.

He stood up from the bed, snapped the familiar's neck and dropped the body on the floor.

Fully healed.  
Only slightly unsteady because of his bad leg. An old injury the virus didn't heal anymore.

He looked at Blade, his expression carefully controlled.  
Blade give him a smile, but Whistler growled angrily, "What the fuck were you thinking when you did ... this? When you turned me into a fucking monster?"

"Don't tell me you rather want to be dead," Blade growled.  
Facing away, he added, "Dammit. I need you, Whistler. I can't stand your death."

"Fuck! You fucking bit me! That makes us nothing different from the evil we're hunting!"  
Whistler ripped off and unwrapped the bandages from himself.  
Whole, perfectly healed skin appeared while the stained dressings told of the extent of the injuries. He was thinner than before, ribs showing, collarbones more prominent.

"How could you do that? Did I teach no nothing?" he continued.

"You take the cure and will be human again ..."

"That's not the point ..." Whistler interrupted him.

"So, what is the fucking point? That you rather want to leave me alone? That I'm such a nuisance to you that you prefer death to spending another day with me? That I'm not Abigail ..."  
Blade stopped. He didn't want to get so angry at Whistler. Not now. Not when he was so happy to have him back.

Whistler on the other hand was getting fucking pissed and yelled, "Fuck you!"

"Fuck me? So that's how things are now? Why the fuck didn't you tell me about your daughter?" Blade roared.

The anger seeped from Whistler's expression to be replaced by pain.  
"Blade, you're my son. Nothing ever changes my love for you."

"Then why did you treat me like this?"

"Blade, please don't ..."

"No!"  
Blade picked up the dead familiar and stormed out.  
As he put stake into the familiar's heart and a silver bullet into his brain and buried him, he calmed down. Enough to feel sorry for yelling at Whistler like this.

When he went back into the cabin, Whistler had cleaned up and dressed, so he'd obviously found the bucket of water on the back terrace that served as a shower around here. He was looking at himself in the mirror, inspecting his eyes and fangs and clean shaven face and head.  
Blade thought he probably found he almost didn't recognize himself.

Whistler turned to face him. He seemed a lot calmer and more composed than before.  
"A cabin in woods? Things must've gone to hell."

"Yes, they did. How are you?" Blade asked.

"Fine." Actually Whistler felt better and healthier than he had in forever, but he kept silent about that. It was a dangerous temptation.  
"Sure as hell not human anymore. It's different from the last time, though, I feel like myself, not some animal. Probably 'cause it was you who bit me instead of this retard Quinn. Whatever, time for the cure."

"That's not the only thing that's different," Blade said. He touched Whistler's arm, feeling skin still as warm as his own and a humanly quick pulse at his wrist. He thought of how quickly the blood had healed Whistler.

"I know," Whistler said. "Everything feels different from last time."

"You aren't really a vampire, but more like me."  
Blade wondered how that was possible. Never it had been like this.  
He could tell Whistler was thinking the same.  
"We should wait a little with the cure to make sure you're fully recovered. What do you think?"

"Yes," Whistler agreed. "So, what happened?"

They sat down at the table in the dark and Blade told him everything:  
The FBI arresting him, telling him Whistler was dead, Abigail and King busting into the police station, Drake, Talos, the police chief and the psychiatrist being her familiars, the blood farming facility, Daystar, his battle with Drake.  
"... I thought I died. But I woke up in the local FBI morgue two days later as they were about to do an autopsy on me. Agent Cumberland, the coroner and his assistant didn't survive it. Agent Hale died after he told me that you're still alive and where to find you. I ran and eventually went to our emergency depot. That was yesterday. Then I found this place and went to get you."  
It was difficult to voice those last events aloud. Blade felt deeply ashamed. Totally overcome by the need for blood to recover from Daystar he'd bitten and massacred four people within the matter of minutes.

"That means the FBI is now even worse after you," Whistler said cooly.

"I know." Blade tightened his left hand into a fist. There was already a manhunt on and his face was plastered all over the fucking news. They needed to leave the U.S., maybe investigate that rumor about the new Overlord in Nigeria or something equally far away.

"It's okay, Blade. Stop worrying about this. You don't need to feel sorry for them."

These were words Blade hadn't expected to hear from Whistler. Then again, they were exactly the words he would expect from a vampire.  
He didn't wanted to explore this further, so it was a good thing that Whistler asked, "Did Daystar work?"

"Not in the intended way. It killed just Drake and the vampires in the immediate vicinity."

"How is Abigail?" Whistler asked.

Blade carefully controlled his expression.  
"Guess okay. Didn't pay her a visit yet."  
After a long pause Blade continued, "Why didn't you tell me about your daughter and those 'Nightstalkers'? Didn't you trust me, or something?"  
He couldn't keep the pain from his voice.

"Shit," Whistler grunted. "You know there are other hunters."

"Don't fuck with me, old man."

Whistler looked away.  
"I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't cover it, Whistler. We've never kept things from each other like that."  
Blade knew he sounded hurt, even though he did his best to control his emotions.

"I didn't know how you would take this," Whistler said after a long silence. "It had always been just the two of us. But I've gotten old, my days are numbered. I wanted someone to be there for you and help you when I'm gone ..."

"Then you should've told me about them," Blade hissed. "Instead of letting a bunch of pathetic losers come to my 'rescue'."

"Abigail ain't a loser," Whistler growled.

"Wasn't primarily talkin' 'bout her."

"I'd planned to tell you ... Just wanted the right moment for it ..."

"That's bullshit," Blade interrupted him. "What's the true reason?"  
He was getting fucking pissed. Way more than he considered appropriate, now when he was so happy to have Whistler back, but the way Whistler had kept all this from him fucking hurt so much.

"I hadn't completely worked it out yet. They ... don't know you like I do. They're kinda like fanboys, yet afraid of you. I was still figuring out the best approach. And you don't do teams well, I figured you wouldn't really like them and the whole idea ..."  
Whistler sighed and looked away.

It still sounded like shit. A hastily made up cover. So Blade wouldn't ask further when Whistler was so intent on keeping the true reason to himself.  
"There's something else I should know?" He growled. "Like any other children of yours? How big is this network of hunters they were talking about? Who's leading it?"

"No one. It's just six hunter groups. They're traveling around like we do. Like it's always been. King was probably exaggerating when he told you 'bout it."

Blade only grunted in response. King had been talking shit every time he'd opened his mouth.

"I didn't know Abigail existed until she tracked me down shortly after we returned to the states," Whistler continued. "Her mother is a hooker from Houston. We saved her ass from vampires, you were fifteen back then. She stayed with us for a day, me and her somehow ended up fucking."

"I remember her." Blade was surprised how quickly those long ago days came alive in his memory.  
"She called herself Cherry. So she got pregnant. What's her real name?"

"Charlene Allister. She had Abigail, but things were shit. She continued to work as a prostitute and became addicted to drugs. She was traumatized from the vampire attack, probably should've gotten therapy or something. Eventually Abigail was taken away from her and ended up in foster care."

"How does Abigail even know about you?"

"Charlene had told her about me all the time. And about vampires. When Abigail came of age, she realized her mother wasn't insane. Suckheads had fucked up her life and she wanted to kill them for it. She tracked me down, I brought her in contact with the other hunters."

 _And didn't fucking tell me._  
"You know, I might've liked the idea if you'd told me from the beginning."  
Blade got up. He needed to get out and cool down. Or he would yell at Whistler and they would get into a huge fight.  
They would deal with all this later when they'd found a safe place to lay low for awhile.

He placed the injector with the cure on the table and walked away.

The joy that Whistler was alive was interlaced with pain and disgust at himself.

He felt so betrayed and just didn't understand why the hell Whistler had kept Abigail and the other hunters from him.  
Eventually Blade might get over that, but it would remain a conflict between them for a long time. Not to mention when it eventually came to contacting Abigail and her King.  
Didn't he consider Blade trustworthy? Or too much a freak to work with others?  
Feared he even for the human's safety in Blade's presence? Blade had thought that after their twenty-five years together he would know better.  
It made no sense.  
Fuck it. He shouldn't think about it anymore if he wanted to get anything than more angry. They would deal with that shit later.

The thirst raged in the back of his mind, like it always did, mocking him he was becoming a monster, that Whistler had been right to consider him a danger to humans.  
He considered all the death he'd recently caused, how the thirst had completely overwhelmed him in the morgue. A slip in control he hadn't experienced since he'd been a teenager.

 _Sooner or later the thirst always wins ..._  
His mother's words.  
Drake's words.

No, they weren't right.  
He was in control of himself.  
That wouldn't happen again.

Hours slipped by as he wandered through the forest, concentrating on the nature, using the unusual sensations to calm down and compose himself.  
His hunting grounds were the cities, such a contrast the quietness and deep darkness of the woods.  
Animals fled from him in panic when he came close enough for them to catch his scent, even insects avoided him.

By dawn he returned to the cabin.

Whistler was sitting on the stairs outside, the first rays of sunlight falling onto him.

Blade knew it before he said anything. His scent was unmistakable.  
"How are you?" he asked nevertheless.

"Damn cure didn't do shit," Whistler muttered. He looked away into the woods. His whole expression screamed desperation.

Blade felt like hell.  
It hadn't fucking worked.  
And the only two people, who could create an other one, were dead. Karen Jenson had been killed years ago, just after she'd completed the new serum for him and this very cure.

This was something Blade hadn't even considered in his hastily made up plan. He had feared Whistler might die before the virus did its work. But never this.  
How was that even possible? The cure had worked perfectly on Karen after he'd drunk her blood.  
The fucking cure had worked on Whistler before. But then it hadn't been his bite and Whistler had been a normal vampire. Now Whistler was like him, even though it shouldn't be like this, never hadn't been like this. When he'd bitten people before Whistler had found him, they had turned into normal vampires.

It was like the world was closing in on him.

"We'll work something out," he said to Whistler, trying to offer comfort, even though he needed it himself and had no idea what to do.

"Yes." Whistler sounded equally lost.

Blade's mind raced.

There were only a few possible explanations and none offered a solution.

Vampirism had mystic shit to it. Shit they didn't know much of anything about.  
Blade had never talked to anyone about it, but he'd felt sort of more powerful since he'd fought and killed Frost and LaMagra. He'd liked to attribute it to drinking Karen's blood and eventually getting a new, better working serum. But maybe LaMagra had changed him. It might have been within the creature's powers to do so, after all the blood god hadn't been just a myth.

Or it was just a natural change Blade underwent with time, like he'd suddenly turned vampire at puberty.

Or Daystar had mutated him.

Or Drake had caused this. Either in a mystical way or it had been the tiny cut Drake had given him with his reaper-like biting apparatus, infecting him with something.

He remembered Drake's final words.  
 _Funny, isn't it? All this time, my people were trying to create a new kind of vampire when one already existed._  
 _I don't need to survive. The future of our race rests with you._  
 _You fought with honor. I respect that. Allow me a parting gift. But remember this: Sooner or later the thirst always wins._

Had Drake meant this with the parting gift?

Whatever. How exactly it had happened didn't matter. What mattered was what he'd done.

He'd just fucking started to create a new kind of vampire.

And he knew he wouldn't be able to end it the way he should.  
Not when there was a already a little treacherous voice in the back of his mind telling him how Whistler now wouldn't die of old age anymore in some years.

**The End**


End file.
